


An Idiot's Guide to Crossing the Road

by who_la_hoop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Jokes, Blow Jobs, Community: hp_kinkfest, Crack, Established Relationship, HP: EWE, M/M, Multi, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Uniforms, live!Snape, lollipop lady uniform, mild spanking, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/pseuds/who_la_hoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape can't really be alive . . . can he? But why is someone with his face lurking about around a certain lollipop lady? When Harry and Draco discover the truth, it's possible their lives will never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Idiot's Guide to Crossing the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ fest HP_Kinkfest, for the not-so-serious prompt of: "Snape really likes Muggle lollipop ladies. Consequently he spends a lot of time crossing the road."
> 
> I am not quite sure what genre this fic is. It's a bit cracky. But also a bit dirty. So, er, dirt-crack! Or crack-dirt, if you prefer. Either way, the blame for this can firmly be placed with Mr Birds, who prompted this in jest. Though maybe a teensy-weensy bit of the blame can be appointed to birdsofshore, for not disciplining her man firmly enough. Let them both serve as the Awful Example – never prompt anything unless you actually want to read it :D
> 
> PS. I have modified the pairing, to suit the 'plot', so apologies to anyone who was looking forward to Snape shagging a Muggle lollipop lady, you'll have to put up with the multiple cocks instead.
> 
> PPS. [THIS](http://snipelondon.com/images/1249.jpg) is a lollipop lady outfit . . .

Why did Severus Snape keep crossing the road?  
So no one could tell which side he was on.  
– _Anon_

***

"What's he _doing_ , exactly?" Draco said, in a tone of sick fascination as they watched Severus Snape nod – very shortly – at the woman and walk across the road.

Harry shrugged – to the detriment of the invisibility cloak, which slipped, and it was only good luck (that, and Draco's flailing hands) that stopped it from slipping off altogether, leaving them exposed to view. Harry had no doubt that Snape, who'd always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Harry, would have chosen exactly that moment to turn around, despite there being no reason to.

"I don't know why you don't just . . . magic this fucking thing bigger," Draco said, clutching it in a death grip and – probably inadvertently – digging his elbow hard into Harry's ribs.

"How?" Harry asked, which evidently irritated his fellow lurking-under-a-cloak companion, because the elbow dug in again, rather harder. Okay, it probably wasn't inadvertent, was it?

"You're the big-shot mighty wizard," Draco muttered grumpily, but relaxed against Harry when he slid an arm round his waist.

"It was either this or lurking behind a bush," Harry said, trying to sound apologetic. "And knowing Snape, he'd probably set the bush on fire."

"And there _isn't_ a bush," Draco pointed out, still a little sniffily.

"Okay, lamp post," Harry amended with a small grin.

Draco's lips twitched. "You eat too much cake to be able to hide behind a lamp post," he pronounced in judgemental tones.

"Fuck you," Harry said, without rancour.

"Yeah, okay," Draco said, his nose in the air, his tone entirely at odds with his words. "But first we have to work out whether the professor has gone _completely_ insane or merely _slightly_ insane."

"We're not even absolutely sure it _is_ the prof—" Harry started, rubbing his thumb idly over Draco's hip bone through his robes. If he was wearing anything under them, the fabric must be remarkably feather-light.

"No, Harry," Draco interrupted. "It is. I _know_ it is." He sniffed. "Let's follow him. He wasn't walking that fast; we'll soon catch up."

"We don't need to," Harry said, looking into the distance. Professor Snape was already walking back their way, this time clutching a small plastic bag.

The pair of them watched in frozen fascination as Snape once more nodded politely to the woman, who then walked him across the road.

"What did you say she was called again?" Draco asked, his voice once more slipping back into sick awe.

"A lollipop lady," Harry said.

"And she . . .?"

"Is there to help small children cross the road," Harry replied. It was not the first time they had had this conversation; it was not the first time they had waited, covered by the cloak, and watched as Snape was assisted across the road by the woman. And not for the first time, Harry wondered just how, exactly, he'd come to be in this situation: spying on Severus Snape (who was, after all, dead) with a bloke he'd considered his arch-enemy for nearly half his life. A bloke who he was now, by the by, sleeping with on a regular basis, and who he missed – terrifyingly – when he wasn't in the same room.

It still seemed a bit strange to Harry – even now, a good year later – that he and Draco had made up quite so easily when they both returned to Hogwarts, after the Death Eaters had been tried and the castle rebuilt. Not that the words 'made up' quite covered it, he thought. But 'reconciled' didn't work either, because they had never been _con_ ciled – they'd hated each other like poison, pretty much from the start. But still, instead of everything being deeply awkward and awful, as Harry had gloomily suspected it would be, things had turned out surprisingly different.

For Malfoy had, on encountering Harry for the first time in the school corridor, rather than hexing him silly or cutting him dead, so to speak, merely stopped. Held out his hand. And smiled. It was a bit of a poor effort at a smile, but it was a smile, nevertheless. "Hello," he had said. "My name is Draco. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Harry had taken his hand, after a pregnant pause, feeling a bit like an idiot. Was this some sort of trick? "What are you playing at, Mal—"

"Draco," Malfoy had interrupted. "It's Draco." And a flush had spread, very quickly and very hotly, across his pale cheeks and down his neck. "I thought we could start afresh. As if . . ." He trailed off, obviously unsure how to go on.

"As if you were never on Voldemort's side?" Harry had asked, with more curiosity than anger, and Malfoy had flushed all the harder, and curled his lip and – curiouser, and curiouser – bitten back whatever snide remark he'd planned to say. His hand, however, tightened round Harry's, as if on reflex.

"I was never really on his side," Malfoy said, his chin raised very high and his mouth in a sort-of sneer that still seemed to be trying to be a smile. "I was on my parents' side. Unfortunately, their side was the wrong one."

He had paused, and Harry had noticed – couldn't help _but_ notice, really – that Malfoy was still holding his hand in a death grip, as if letting go would mean drowning. There was a moderately frozen silence, during which Harry stared at Malfoy's chin, in preference to looking him in the eye, and tried not to notice that it was trembling.

"Thank you for keeping my mother out of Azkaban," Malfoy finally said in a raw whisper. "I really am so very grateful to you for speaking up for her. And for myself," he added, in a tone that suggested cheese graters and razor wire had been applied to the inside of his throat. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry? _Harry?_ And was Malfoy really not going to berate him for failing to speak on Lucius Malfoy's behalf? Because Harry hadn't. Nothing on earth could have compelled him to do so. And even so, the man had managed to weasel out of going to prison, despite how much he clearly deserved it.

"Do you _really_ want to make things right between us?" Harry had asked, finally, after a bit more frozen-silence-ing, death-gripping and chin-staring. "I mean _really_ , rather than for the good of your reputation, or for anything ridiculous like that?"

Harry had looked into Malfoy's – Draco's – eyes, which were very, very pale and yet very, very sharp. "Yes," Draco, had said, his gaze not wavering, "I do." And that, pretty much, had been that.

Of course, it was a bit of a step from arch-enemies to bum chums, but Harry thought he'd handled the transition rather well, with hardly any need for therapy. As for Ron, he'd only passed out from shock twice, and Hermione had already presented Harry with a stack of books referencing same sex relationships in the wizarding world and was threatening to buy a new hat, whatever that meant.

Harry tried to focus on the suburban Muggle street he was standing on, rather than on his sudden desire to rip off Draco's robe and take him, right there, up against the red-brick wall.

Birds tweeted. Cars zoomed past. Nothing happened.

Harry's self-control snapped.

"Mmmmf!" Draco said eloquently, against Harry's mouth. "What are you doing, idiot?"

"I was just, er," Harry explained. He'd managed to pull his mouth away from Draco's – which was now wearing a slightly smug grin – but was finding himself unable to remove his lower regions from Draco. Draco was currently the filling in a brick wall/Harry sandwich, but since he wasn't mouthing off about it, Harry thought he probably didn't mind too much.

"Just 'er'?" Draco said – rather mercilessly, Harry thought. And added, eyes sparkling, "I did mean it, what I said, you know. That you could fuck me right now, if you want."

" _Oh_ ," Harry said, feeling himself go from reasonably pale and interesting to overripe tomato in under three seconds.

" _Oh_ ," Draco repeated, mocking. "Well, now the lollipop Muggle has gone, I expect Snape won't put in an appearance until later this afternoon when she returns. So I'm all yours, scarhead."

Harry stared at him. "Are you _trying_ to put me off?"

Draco's lips quirked. "No," he said. "I think it's weird that Snape turns up every time that fluorescent Muggle child-protector is on duty, but—"

"I think it's weird that Snape turns up at _all_ ," Harry said firmly, drawing away from Draco just enough to yank his robes up to his waist. "You're . . . not wearing anything under your robe," he said, the roaring of his blood suddenly louder than the persistent hum of the traffic passing by. It was only nine in the morning or so, and now the school rush had ended, the roads were less congested and the passers-by less frequent.

"I predicted – correctly – that stalking Snape would turn you on," Draco said lazily, but his words turned into a gasp when Harry wrapped a firm hand around his cock and started pumping, the other bunched up around the robe to hold it up in place.

"Bollocks you did," Harry said, feeling his own cock twitch but making no move to free it from the confines of his jeans. Draco's face was already flushing, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps that suggested he was seriously, _seriously_ turned on. As in, if Harry didn't stop that _right now_ then he'd be coming in about two minutes flat.

Harry kept stroking Draco's dick, firm and fast, and Draco's lips parted, his head rolling back to knock against the wall behind him.

"Fuck," Draco said, and his hand tightened painfully around Harry's upper arm. " _Fuck_."

"Not _here_ ," Harry said, shifting in an attempt to get some relief. His cock felt hot and swollen, trapped between the thick fabric of his jeans and his thigh. "You might get turned on by getting your cock out in the street, but I, on the other hand—"

"Fuck off," Draco managed. His legs were twitching now, and he groaned, as if he couldn't help himself. "No one . . . can see. Except you."

Harry could feel Draco's stomach clenching, his legs starting to twitch. Draco leaned forward a touch, leaning the side of his head against Harry's. He was hot, and damp with sweat, despite the day being mild.

"God, Harry," Draco mumbled, as if he was amazed. As if he was _grateful_. And he came, in a series of shudders that wracked his whole body, groaning and panting against Harry's hair as Harry continued to stroke him, until he was juddering with the intensity of it.

"Mm," Harry said, wiping his hand on Draco's stomach and letting his robes fall.

Draco wrinkled his nose, and then grinned, very slightly. "Shall we hang about for Snape part two, then? Or?"

Harry snorted. "Or?"

Draco attempted nonchalance, and dragged his fingernails over the bulge in Harry's trousers, making him jolt and press in closer. "Or," Draco said again.

Harry took hold of Draco's arm and Side-Along Apparated him back to Draco's apartment without even pausing for breath.

***

But they were back again that afternoon, waiting for Snape – or, at least, the man who was the spitting image of the professor – to put in his appearance.

"You do _wash_ this thing occasionally, don't you?" Draco said, in tones of mild disgust, as they leaned against the same wall, the cloak draping over them in soft folds.

Harry punched him on the arm, none too gently.

"Oh, violence, now, to go with the sexual harassment?"

"Sexual harassment?" Harry spluttered.

Draco smiled, very sweetly. "You can't keep your hands off me, can you?"

Harry felt his face go hot.

Draco snorted. "I'm only _joking_ , idiot. No need to look like I've kicked a puppy. You can paw at me as much as you like, I swear."

"I don't—" Harry protested, but Draco stuck up a hand.

"Shh!" he said. "Here she comes."

The lollipop lady took up position by the side of the road. She was carrying, as usual, a long pole with a round sign on it, which read STOP and featured a cartoon image of a mother and child holding hands. She was dressed in sensible black trousers with sensible shoes, a violent yellow high-visibility jacket covering the rest of her body from neck to wrists to knees. On her head was perched a military-style cap, in shades of black and yellow. Steel-grey hair wisped out from under the cap.

"You don't think Snape fancies her, do you?" Harry said doubtfully.

Draco turned an appalled expression on him. "That elderly Muggle woman? Are you mad?"

Harry shrugged. "We can barely see her under all that yellow. She might be—"

"The professor would _not_ fancy . . . that," Draco said firmly.

Harry felt strangely annoyed by this. "He might!" he said. "I'm sure she's perfectly nice!"

"The professor likes green," Draco said quashingly, "not yellow. And he hardly suffers from a lack of self-confidence. He wouldn't trail after this woman if he desired her; he would simply ask her if she would join him for a meal."

"I'm not sure—"

"You forget, Harry," Draco said, as if Harry hadn't spoken, "that we are not even sure if this _is_ the professor. It may be some impostor, intent on blackening his name with some heinous acts."

"I'm not sure what heinous acts could be committed by trailing after a lollipop lady," Harry said. Honestly! What was Draco on about? It had been _him_ who'd been convinced that the man was Snape, not Harry. Harry had said, all along, that it was more likely to be someone polyjuiced as Snape than Snape himself. That was why they were following him, wasn't it? Rather than handing the information straight over to the Aurors, who were – Harry's conscience gave a pang – the best people to deal with the situation, after all?

"The lollipop lady may not _be_ a Muggle," Draco said slowly and carefully, as if he were talking to a small child. "She may be a . . . a . . ."

"Death Eater?" Harry supplied, looking at the woman across the road from them. If she was a Death Eater, it was a very good disguise. She smiled at the children who were approaching her and, thrusting her stick out in front of her, walked into the middle of the road to stop the traffic and help the children cross.

"Precisely!" Draco said. And then frowned. "You'll regret not taking me seriously when this all goes tits up," he said, with a sanctimonious air.

"So you _do_ think Snape fancies her," Harry said, snorting. "And not only that, you plan to watch them shag!"

Draco turned on him with a vengeful air, but to Harry's relief, a familiar dark-clad figure came into view. He was wearing dark trousers and a dark shirt, rather than dark billowing robes, but somehow the Muggle clothes didn't look wrong on the Man Who Looked Like Snape.

"Let's creep in closer and listen to their conversation," Harry whispered, grabbing Draco's arm and yanking.

They tiptoed gingerly closer, all too aware that if they tripped over the edge of the cloak, or made a noise, their cover would be blown.

Snape approached. His eyes flickered up and down the woman's body, and then over the pole in her hand. A faint, blotchy colour rose in his cheeks.

The woman didn't look overly happy to see him, Harry could tell, now he was up close. She nodded, very shortly.

A familiar sneer crossed Snape's face – it _was_ him, Harry's mind told him, it really _was_ – and he opened his mouth, as if to say something snide and cutting. But the woman turned her back on him and – with a put-upon sigh – walked out into the road, brandishing her stick like a weapon.

As soon as her back was turned, Snape's expression slipped back into a strange, half-disgusted, half-wistful expression. But the moment her head snapped round to look at him, he pulled himself together, quite visibly, and strode across the road, not looking back.

"An interesting performance," Draco said when they had walked safely back to the wall, where they were in less danger of being stepped on by passing Muggles and thus inciting panic.

"I think it actually might be him, you know," Harry said, feeling his throat tighten with something akin to panic.

"Well, whoever it is, romance was certainly not in the air," Draco said, with just a hint of satisfaction. "So I was right," he added, "and you owe me a blow job."

"I . . . what? When did I promise that?" Harry protested.

"You mean you _don't_ want to give me a blow job?" Draco said, raising one high, pale, perfect eyebrow.

Harry wet his lips. "Um." The idea was not without its charms. Then he rallied. "You could give _me_ one," he said.

Draco's eyebrow rose even higher. "Me? A specimen of pureblood perfection? Get down on my knees in the _street_ and suck you off?"

"I didn't mean right _now_ , you—"

Draco shrugged. "OK," he said, cutting off Harry's embarrassed protests, "if you acknowledge that I was right, and always _will_ be right."

"You must be mad," Harry said heatedly, "I'm certainly not – _nghhhhh_."

"Mmm?" Draco said, from between Harry's legs, where he had made short work of yanking down Harry's trousers and taking his cock in his mouth.

"N-n-nothing," Harry said, completely losing his trail of thought as he was lost in hot, wet suction.

It didn't seem quite right that he came – unable to keep entirely silent – just at the moment that Snape stepped back onto their side of the street, making his return journey. And it certainly didn't seem right that Snape's dark, intense eyes, sweeping suspiciously over Harry's face – even though there was no possible way he could see Harry, his brain reminded him, _none at all_ – made the whole thing rather more of a turn-on than less.

It was the outdoor setting that had made it all feel especially intense, Harry told himself, later that night, unable to sleep. Nothing else.

***

Draco was nearly wetting himself with laughter; Harry didn't think it was quite so funny as all that. He adjusted the hat grumpily. "I don't look _that_ bad," he said.

Draco wiped his face – he'd actually been crying, he'd laughed so hard. "Harry, you look about a hundred times more of an eyesore than a Cannons player, and that's saying something."

Harry thought about this. "I don't see why bright yellow is so much more awful than bright orange," he protested weakly. But, striding over to look in the mirror, he could see that Draco had a point.

"Fucking hell," the mirror said. "What sicked _you_ up?"

Harry stepped away from the thing, his cheeks on fire.

Draco did a bit more of the helpless laughter, and Harry couldn't help but reluctantly smile. "It's not that bad," he said. "It's not!"

Draco pulled himself together and perched languidly on the edge of the bed. "Can I take a photo?" he asked.

"What for?" Harry asked, straightening out the cuffs of the high vis jacket. It really was bright; he almost considered looking up a spell to tint the lenses of his glasses. It would give him a headache if he looked at it for much longer.

"Posterity," Draco said, and cracked up again.

"When you've _quite finished_ ," Harry said, in a passable impression of Hermione, "we have a street crossing to man."

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Draco said, "I don't think I'll be able to cope once you add the pole."

Harry considered this.

"I know you're trying to think up some lewd joke," Draco said lazily. "So just pretend you've said it and we can move on with our lives."

Harry picked up the pole and moved as if to whack Draco round the head with it.

Draco just smiled, and Harry didn't see why he should stop himself from kissing him, so he did.

"You _rustle_ ," Draco said delightedly, mid-snog.

"And _you_ –" Harry pressed himself against Draco – "are the one getting turned on by a bloke in a rustling, bright yellow jacket. Don't even ask what I plan to do with the pole."

Draco snorted. "Fuck off, Potter," he said, in a tone that implied the opposite.

"No, _you_ fuck off, Malfoy," Harry said, and pushed Draco down on to the bed, rearing over him.

Draco's lips parted – and then he sniggered. "That hat!" he all but wept, "that hat!"

Harry grinned back. "Yes, yes, okay," he said. "Now, if you've quite finished mocking, perhaps we should go and enact the plan?"

"Only if you promise to roger me in that uniform later," Draco wheezed through his laughter. "I don't think I can resist. I could put it in my Pensieve and it would work for blackmail purposes for the rest of – oh, for the rest of _forever_."

"You mean I could blackmail _you_ ," Harry said, managing to get up, and pulling Draco up after him.

Draco wiped away his tears once more. His face was red and splotchy, his whole expression relaxed, and Harry thought he'd never fancied him more – if that was even possible. "Oh, I suppose there is that," he said peaceably. "Well, lead on, lollipop boy."

"Lollipop _man_ ," Harry corrected, mock-sternly, and Draco was still laughing when they Apparated away.

***

"Next time, will you have to dress up as a zebra?" Draco murmured.

Harry started; it was odd when the fresh air started talking to you. Technically, of course, he knew full well that Draco was next to him, under the cloak, but he still couldn't _see_ him. And Draco had been content to be quiet for quite some time now, while Harry ferried the children across the zebra crossing.

"No," he muttered, in reply to Draco. "Next time _you_ can be the zebra, and I'll . . . I'll . . . step on you," he said, and tried not to visibly flinch when he was pinched – hard – by invisible fingers.

It hadn't been difficult to persuade the crossing guard that there was sickness in her household and she was needed at home, although Harry did feel a little guilty about the subterfuge. As well as slightly sick himself, he had to confess. Was this really the best way of confronting the Man Who Probably Was Snape? Couldn't they have just sent a note? They'd followed him to the shop he appeared to own, just down the street from the school, after all. ONLY A POUND the shop was called. Everything that was in it cost a pound.

If Harry had had to describe the sort of person who owned a store that sold things that cost a pound, and nothing else, he wouldn't have put Snape top of the list, that was for sure.

Maybe it _wasn't_ Snape, after all. Maybe—

"How _dare_ you," came a hoarse whisper – very low, but very clear. And very, very, _very_ angry.

Harry blinked and turned, to see . . . Snape. It looked like Snape. It _sounded_ like Snape. "Here to cross the road, are you?" he said, feeling rather angry himself.

" _Potter_ ," Snape hissed. "Have you been _following_ me? Could you think of no better way of communicating with me than this _ridiculous_ and _puerile_ charade? Have you NO RESPECT for what I've been through? Are you _that ignorant_ that you—"

It was Snape, all right. "Hey," Harry interrupted, "that's hardly fair. We – I didn't even know for sure it was you! It is you, isn't it?"

Snape emitted a snort that, if he'd been a dragon, would have been instant, burn-y death for Harry – and for Draco, still hidden beside him, too. "I see that graduating from school has had a negligible effect on your brains," he spat.

"Have you been following _me_?" Harry said indignantly.

"Idiot boy," Snape said, his lip curling. "Do you think that just because I have made a new life for myself, I am incapable of reading the _Daily Prophet_? You are still a . . . celebrity. If not more so than ever." He said 'celebrity' in the same way that one might say 'slug' or 'pestilent plague'.

"Excuse me," said a small voice beside Harry.

Oh. Fuck. "Um, sorry!" Harry said, and did his business with the stick and so forth.

"The professor's looking at you really funny," Draco hissed in his ear, nearly making Harry jump out of his skin. "Like . . . like he wants to eat you up."

"Yes, because he hates me," Harry said, trying to say it without moving his lips.

"No-o," Draco said, and Harry thought he said it in a speculative way that suggested Bad Things were going to happen, but since he couldn't see Draco's face he couldn't have his suspicions confirmed. So, instead, he finished up and stepped out of the road. Snape was still standing there, his expression dark and full of promise of future pain.

"Tell me, Potter, do you plan on telling anyone else about our little encounter?" Snape asked, stepping just a little too close.

Harry had bad memories of Snape looming over him, but Snape was now only a few inches taller than him – it was hard to loom convincingly without the height difference. Besides, Harry was the one holding a massive lollipop stick. It somehow made even Menacing Looming a bit ridiculous.

"Yes," Harry said baldly. "I plan on telling everyone. Just what are you up to, Sn—" He stopped speaking. Namely, because it was too hard to speak when there was a wand pressed up against your throat. Was Snape trying to stab him with it, rather than use magic?

Then the pressure eased, very slightly. "Tell Miss Granger or Mr Weasley, whichever it is who has their wand to my throat, to remove it, or I will blow your head off," Snape said, very coldly.

"It's Draco, actually," said Draco. If Snape's voice was cold, Draco's was ice. Really _cold_ ice.

Snape blinked, as if surprised beyond all measure, and Harry took advantage of the situation to hit him on the head with the business end of the lollipop stick.

A small child, approaching, began to cry.

"Fuck!" said the invisible man. "Better get out of here, quick." And Harry felt the familiar, fish-hook tug of Side Along Apparition, as Draco grabbed both him and Snape and took them away.

***

Harry knew he shouldn't still find Snape intimidating – not after what he knew about him. All the personal, awful details of Snape's life. How he'd spent so many years silently protecting Harry. How he'd risked himself over and over. He was a good man, who'd paid too much for an awful mistake.

But knowing in the abstract that he shouldn't find Snape intimidating, and actually accomplishing this in real life, were two entirely different things.

"I thought you were dead," Harry said again.

Snape, sitting on one of Draco's luxurious sofas, glowered at him. "Give me back my wand, you wretched boy."

"No," Harry said. "It's not that I don't trust you, but I don't trust you not to leave here immediately and run away again."

"I didn't _run away_ ," Snape hissed. "I made a new life for myself."

"With a _Muggle shop_?" Draco asked, from over on an antique chaise longue, apparently unable to stop himself.

"Yes, Draco, with a Muggle shop," Snape said testily. "And a Muggle house. And . . ." He fell silent.

"And an addiction to crossing the road," Draco said with a snort.

Harry expected a death glare; instead, Snape merely looked toweringly embarrassed, and glowered at the floor, as if it were a personal enemy.

"What's that all about?" Harry asked, now even more curious.

Snape's eyes snapped up to meet his. "That is entirely NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS," he said, rather loudly.

Draco laughed with derision. "I bet you just like the uniform," he said, eyes flicking over to Harry, who was still a vision in fluorescent yellow.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Snape yelled, leaping from his seat and striding over to Draco. He made an attempt to throttle him, and Harry had to wade in to separate them, since Draco had evidently either forgotten how to use a wand or didn't want to – not on Professor Snape.

It wasn't only Harry who Snape had sacrificed himself for, after all.

But that didn't stop Draco from crowing triumphantly – once he'd rubbed his neck to check that it was still intact – "You _do_ like the uniform, you sick bastard! What exactly is it you want that woman to do with her stick, eh? Or –" his eyes widened to comical proportions – "do you want _Harry_ to do it?"

A silence fell. It was, Harry thought, a pretty terrifying silence. Who would Snape try and kill first? Draco? Harry? Or himself? No, not himself. Probably Draco. He shifted uneasily. Snape's eyes were locked on Draco, and vice versa. He readied himself for one of them to spring.

But . . . instead, Draco wet his lips, and a heavy, dark colour stained Snape's cheeks, spreading not just in face but down his throat. "Absolutely not," Snape said, but it had no weight to it.

Harry began to feel very peculiar indeed.

The silence spread, and thickened, and Harry was entirely determined that he would not be the one to break it. Who cared that Snape's face was getting redder by the second, and he looked as if he was about to explode, like a kettle of boiling water whistling on the hob? Who cared that Draco didn't look entirely disgusted – but, instead, intrigued? The only thing that mattered was that if Harry broke the silence, Snape would turn and look at him. In his lollipop person's uniform. And he was still clutching that fucking stick, wasn't he? The stick that—

"This uniform is _not_ sexy," Harry said, too loudly, into the silence. Okay, he'd broken it, so what? Silences made him uncomfortable; why the hell shouldn't he?

Snape turned a strange expression on him. Strange, in that it wasn't just simmering rage, but something else – something worrying – too. Still, the simmering rage was there, all right. "Potter," he said, as if his jaw was clenched so tight that it pained him to speak, "I am quite certain that even _you_ have, on occasion, been overwhelmed by feelings that do not spring from any rational place in the tiny thing you call a brain."

"Oi!" Harry said, frowning. And frowned even more when Draco, apparently unable to stop himself, sniggered.

"You _don't_ ," Draco said, in a strangled voice, "you _can't_ fancy him, dressed up like that."

"Oh no?" Harry snapped, moderately irritated by the implication that he was unfanciable. "It was _you_ who wanted me to fuck you, dressed up like this."

It was Draco's turn to go red; and given that he was the palest of the three of them, he did the best job at getting a proper beetroot-red flush on. "That's not the same!" he said.

"Pardon me for saying," Snape said in his silkiest, most insultingest of tones, "but I seem to have become embroiled in a personal row. Perhaps if you could give me my wand, Mr Malfoy, and I will leave you two in peace."

"Fuck, no!" Draco said, and his face contorted itself into what Harry always thought of as the Malfoy Glare. Draco's father had much the same look, when set on something, and it gave him the willies. "Perhaps you haven't _noticed_ ," Draco said in haughty tones, "but we are both puzzled and delighted to see you still alive." He paused. " _Sir_."

Snape's eyebrows rose, as if he couldn't stop them.

"And since we seem to have lit upon the perfect way to repay you, in a small way, for the things you've done for us, don't think you're getting away that easily!" Draco continued, chin raised high.

"I beg your pardon," Snape said, very flatly, at the same time as Harry said, "What?!"

Draco turned to Harry as if Snape wasn't even there. His lips twitched. "Oh, go on, _let's_ ," he said. "Just once? You can't say we'll ever have this opportunity again. And I can guarantee that you'll never find him intimidating again, once you've seen him in the buff." He sniggered.

"I do NOT find him intimidating!" Harry said hotly, and then realised he was protesting about the wrong thing.

Snape said nothing; he appeared to have lost the power of speech.

"I think you killed him," Harry said doubtfully.

"Poke him with the stick," Draco said unkindly. "That'll get him going."

"You _surely_ do not mean to suggest that—" Snape said, practically hissing the words out, his eyes burning with something that wasn't quite rage.

"Um, don't I get a say in this?" Harry interrupted. He waved a hand.

"Not waving but drowning," Snape muttered.

Harry stared at him blankly.

"Uncultured oaf," Snape muttered under his breath – but not quietly enough that Harry couldn't hear it.

"Hey!" Harry said. "That's not fair!"

Snape's gaze slid, as if he couldn't help himself, over Harry's body, and Harry felt himself overheating.

"Surely _you_ wish to put a stop to this idiot's wild ideas, Potter?" Snape said, as if he was actually speaking to an adult rather than lecturing a toddler. As if he was actually pleading. "Surely _you_ do not wish to . . . With _me_ of all people," he added, as if the whole idea was ridiculous. "Tell him, Potter."

"It's Harry," Harry said firmly. "Don't you think it's Harry, after all we've been through?"

_And we're not going to go through any more_ , Snape's expression said. But his eyes flamed with something that suggested that while his brain wasn't on board with the idea, maybe other parts of his body were more amenable.

Oh god. Other parts of his body. Other parts of _Snape's_ body.

"I will if he will," Draco said to Snape, as if they were discussing going out for tea and cake.

Snape's expression twisted. But it wasn't, as Harry had vaguely expected, with horror – or even embarrassment. It was with heart-rending _loneliness_. Just for a moment. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced with his usual forbidding, grim scowl.

"OK," Harry heard himself say.

Snape's eyes widened with shock, and even Draco looked a little taken aback.

"Let me get this straight, Potter," Snape said, "you wish to . . . to . . ." He couldn't make himself frame the words. "With _me_. Dressed in . . . that. While Mr Malfoy . . . joins in." His face twisted into a sneer.

"Yup," Harry said, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and feeling a bit more unsure of himself.

"Yup?" Snape echoed. "YUP?"

"This Saturday would work for us," Draco said nonchalantly. "Come round about eight, why don't you?"

"There are so many reasons why I shouldn't that it would take _until_ Saturday for me to list them," Snape said freezingly.

"So don't come then," Draco said, shrugging his shoulders. "But we'll expect you." And he scribbled his address on a piece of paper, and handed it over, along with Snape's wand.

After an incredulous look at the both of them, Snape Apparated away with a crack.

The incredulous look seemed to have spread – it was Harry's turn to utilise it, but this time on Draco. "What just happened?" he said.

"Oh, just a fairly normal day," Draco said in a blasé manner. "We stalked Professor Snape for a bit, and kidnapped him. And made a discovery about his tastes that – I don't know about you – I may never get over."

"And?" It seemed important to Harry to hear Draco say it; because otherwise it had to be a mad hallucination. It already seemed beyond the bounds of possibility that it had happened.

"And we now have a new nickname for you, scarhead," Draco said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He wasn't very good at it, but he'd been practising.

"Now you're not just the Boy Who Lived . . ." Draco said. "You're the Boy Who Lived To Fulfil Inappropriate Fantasies." And – sod him – he sniggered. But he got up and walked over to Harry, sitting on his lap and pressing a kiss to the side of his face. "You don't mind, do you? We both love him, in our own way, and it could be fun."

"I don't know," Harry said, honestly. "The thought's a bit weird." Did he really _love_ Snape? It didn't seem quite the right word for the fierce, thrumming tension between them, that for years had been more like hatred than any kind of affection.

Draco's lips twitched. "You can hardly pronounce on what's weird or not while wearing that hat," he said.

Harry snorted and poked Draco in the side. "I'm not wearing this for fun, ferret face," he said. "Or have you conveniently forgotten?"

Draco smiled, and something in his eyes sparked. "Now, do you remember that you made me a promise earlier?" he said.

"That I would say, from now on, that you're always right?" Harry said sternly. "If I recall, you used underhand tactics and it doesn't count."

" _Underhand tactics_ ," Draco mocked. "Yes, I sucked your dick. What a terrible person I am. Honestly, call that gratitude? Next time I won't swallow; I'll spit, all over your shoes."

Harry laughed, and pulled a face. "You're so revolting."

"That _hat_ is so revolting," Draco replied, face relaxed and happy. "I, on the other hand, am marvellous. And I desire to be fucked, please."

"You said please," Harry said, widening his eyes on purpose. "Will wonders never cease?"

Draco did the eyebrow thing. "No?" he said. "Shall I take my arse elsewhere?"

Harry laughed. "If I can take this sodding uniform off first."

"Even the hat?" Draco said, trying not to grin.

"Especially the hat." He laughed again, although he still felt a little doubtful about the whole business. "Well, we have to save it for Saturday, don't we?"

Draco smirked, and waved his wand speculatively over Harry, who shivered at the sensation of the fabric fizzing into nothing, leaving him completely naked. Apart from the hat.

"Fuck _off_ , Draco," Harry said, tossing the thing away.

"Spoilsport," Draco said, rolling his eyes, but Harry tugged him closer, and soon he wasn't complaining about anything any more.

***

Severus Snape found himself outside his shop, thinking that it was lucky he hadn't managed to splinch himself, he'd Apparated away in such haste. He stormed into ONLY A POUND and attempted to sooth the turmoil in his breast with a bit of good, old-fashioned shouting at his employees, before storming back out and Apparating directly to his house, where he poured himself a very large glass of rum, and followed it up with another one.

After that, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, so he poured himself another drink and sat down on his cheap but cosy sofa and put his head in his hands.

It had take him weeks to recover his health, after he'd managed to Apparate away from the shack to a safe bolt hole – and when he had recovered, he'd discovered, with a wild sensation of freedom and release, that everyone considered him dead. So he'd decided to _stay_ dead. And after emptying his Gringott's vault, in disguise, and converting the money to Muggle currency, he'd slid away to start a new life. Free from revolting children. Free from regrets. And – most of all – free from Harry sodding Potter.

The shop was a recent acquisition, but Severus had thought it an ideal disguise. Even if, by chance, a wizard _did_ venture into Muggle London and see him, they'd think themselves crazy. Professor Severus Snape, Death Eater, running a Muggle discount store specialising in low-quality, cheap, awful tat? No one would believe it for a second.

Severus paused in his thoughts and took a large swallow of his drink. _Harry sodding Potter had believed it._

And, though he resisted it with steely determination, as rising embarrassment flooded through him, making him squirm at the thought of it, Harry sodding Potter had believed . . . the other thing too.

Severus considered death for a moment – though whose, he wasn't quite sure. Possibly the entire wizarding population, followed by the entire Muggle one. That seemed sufficient to wipe out the hideous notion that _people might know_ the sordid things his mind cooked up to taunt him with when he was at his lowest. He couldn't even remember the first time he'd seen a lollipop lady – all he knew was that, as a neglected, unkempt child, who'd been forced to look after himself because no one else had seemed willing to do it, the local lollipop lady had been the only one who'd seemed to care. Had smiled at him, and treated him like the child he was.

And when she'd resigned, and been replaced by another smiling woman, Severus had learned that he didn't particularly care who was holding the stick and stopping the traffic. He just cared that someone was looking out for him. That, for just a moment in the day, he was important.

Severus snorted and took another swallow of alcohol – too big a swallow, because it burned his throat and made him choke. He'd all but forgotten the various ladies who'd made his life as a child a little more bearable, until, walking to the shop one morning, he'd seen her. And something had _ached_ in his chest, and he'd been unable to stop himself from making a fool of himself over a childhood memory that meant nothing to him now.

And those two imbeciles – those _little fucks_ – had taken it upon themselves to not only threaten his safe, quiet life amongst the Muggles, but speculate wildly on his personal life in an unforgivable manner, and put two and two together to make a thousand.

Severus put down the – now empty – glass on his coffee table and scowled at nothing. Well, if they thought he was going to come to their pathetic little amateur attempt at an orgy, they must be out of their minds. There was no way in _hell_ he was interested in that.

Severus's mind flicked back to Harry in his uniform, smiling anxiously but determinedly, while Draco lounged, grinning, on a piece of furniture that had probably cost as much as the entire contents of Severus' current house, and his stomach dropped.

No way in hell was he putting himself through that. No way in _hell_.

***

Severus woke up very early on Saturday morning, and he made his way to the shop to open up. Usually, the sheer mundane nature of the place and the tasks that waited for him within it calmed him down. It was restful, after so many years of anxiety. Restful – not boring, he reminded himself. But this morning the stacks of plastic children's toys, repellent 'ornaments' and dubious perfumes did nothing to sooth him. His mind – and his stomach – churned.

Back at home, in his laboratory, brewing up a complex potion did nothing for him either. The result was perfect – but then his potions were always perfect. Where was the challenge in that?

Frustrated, Severus tried the paper – only to see a photo of Harry on the cover, looking annoyed at being the centre of attention and trying to hide behind his date. Draco Malfoy. Severus snorted, unable to stop himself from at least reading the headline. "Boy Who Lives opens charity for orphaned young wizards!!!" He tossed the paper aside in disgust, and tried the television instead. Because he did so little magic in the house, the electricity worked alongside his wand quite happily, most of the time. The weather was on. That was bound to be free of anything lewd or irritating, wasn't it?

"Look at the squeeze on those isobars!" Carol, the smiling weathergirl, said.

Severus jolted. "For fuck's sake," he said out loud, shooting up in frustration and switching the thing off. It seemed that it was going to be impossible for him to settle without thinking of the invitation he'd received for this evening. The invitation that he had not turned down, despite starting over a dozen poisonous letters. They'd all ended up in the bin.

What should he do? He paced about the house a bit, feeling like an idiot. A frustrated, angry, _infuriated_ idiot.

After several hours of pacing, and sitting, and pacing some more, he came to a decision. He would go round to Draco's flat – and he would tell the spoilt Malfoy brat, and the infuriating Boy Who Lived, exactly what he thought of them and their 'suggestion'. And then he would Obliviate them, and live out the rest of his life in peace.

***

Draco, his white-blond hair peeping out from under a peaked military-style hat in violent yellow, looked very, very irritated. "I resent this outfit," he said. "I resent it _so hard_ that—"

"That he'll never shut up about it," Harry interrupted. It seemed a bit much, to him, that Snape had only just arrived and Draco was already moaning. Mind you, since Harry had no idea what to say to him – hadn't really expected him to turn up, if he was honest – it was good that _someone_ was making conversation, even if it was of the inane kind. "Will you shut up about it?" Harry asked Draco, rather plaintively. He didn't like the way that Snape was just standing there, as if someone had hit him over the head with a heavy object and he just hadn't fallen over yet.

"No," Draco said, simply. Then he put his hand on his hip and, with the other, flourished his lollipop pole. "Now, are you going to fucking cross the road or not . . . sir," he added, as an afterthought. It almost sounded ruder because of it.

Harry swayed slightly and wished he hadn't drunk three glasses of wine already. Two would have plenty. Maybe. "There isn't a road, Draco, you idiot."

"No, but there's traffic cones," Draco said dismissively. "We pinched a few," he said, aiming his remarks at the frozen professor. "Not sure what they're for, but there they are. To provide the correct . . . atmosphere," he said, and turned back to Harry. "Though we could go out in the garden and magic up a road if you're going to be that picky, scarhead. Do you know a roadbuilding spell?"

Harry wondered if it had been a mistake to make Draco dress up too. But he didn't see why _he_ should be the only one to look like a fluorescent yellow pillock. And there was something . . . compelling about Draco dressed like that, if only because sometimes he was sexier when he was annoyed, and he did seem to be really, _really_ annoyed right now.

Snape sucked in a deep breath, and Harry and Draco both turned towards him.

"Drink?" Harry said, offering what looked like elf-made wine.

Severus took it, and opened his mouth. "I cannot _believe_ —" he started.

"Yes, yes," Draco said, flourishing the pole. "We'll take your obligatory protestations as read. Now, are we going to do this or not?"

"Not," Severus said, but he didn't seem to entirely mean it, Harry thought. Not the way he was staring at Draco's fingers as they twisted around the pole.

"Oh, like _that_ , is it?" Draco sneered. "Sounds like you don't _deserve_ to cross the sodding road."

Severus' mouth opened. And closed.

Harry felt a rush of emotion that he couldn't quite explain. "Don't mind him," he said. "He's just sulking because of the outfit. We can just have a drink and, you know, talk, if that's all you want."

Severus pressed his lips together tightly and said nothing. He looked, Harry thought, lik the living example of the phrase 'stuck between a rock and a hard place'. Harry supposed it must be a little difficult to make yourself confess, to two former pupils, that you really _did_ have a thing for fluorescent yellow uniforms - particularly when two young men of your acquaintance were in them.

"You're being far too nice," Draco said to Harry, with a touch of scorn.

"And you're being far too rude to our guest!" Harry said. And then a thought struck him. "Oh god," he said.

"What?" Draco said testily.

"I used to watch Muggle TV shows that remind me of this," Harry said. "There'd be two policemen – one nice, one nasty. Instead of good cop, bad cop, this is . . ." He tried not to laugh. "Good 'pop, bad 'pop."

The resulting silence told him that Draco didn't get the joke, and Snape either didn't get it or wanted to commit suicide right there on the spot.

"Ha ha," Snape said, finally, into the silence. "Very humorous, Potter." He sounded a little as if he was about to read the eulogy at the funeral of his best friend.

"It's _Harry_ ," Harry insisted, still cross that his joke had fallen quite so flat.

Snape took a sip of his wine. "Harry," he said, very low – and surprisingly intensely.

A warm feeling fizzed through Harry's veins. Oh _shit_.

"Harry, I only came here to say that I'm definitely _not_ joining you tonight," Snape said. He said it as if he'd rehearsed it – but it came out rather weak, and the fact that Snape was standing there, sipping wine, put the lie to the words.

Draco snorted in derision, and even Snape's lips quirked, reluctantly.

"Why haven't you gone, then?" Harry asked – quite reasonably, in his opinion. And he looked more closely at Snape – who had, it seemed, gone to some trouble to dress in a smart shirt and trousers, his shoes highly polished and his hair brushed until it shone. Harry stood up and pulled Snape down on the sofa beside him; Snape smelled nice too, of some kind of subtle aftershave with hints of wood smoke.

"I . . ."

Snape seemed to be having trouble answering the question, so Harry took the glass out of his hands. "If it's the . . . uh . . . clothes you like, then go ahead," he said.

"Go ahead and _what_ ," Snape said, but he hadn't gone anywhere – hadn't moved a muscle, really. Apart from something in his jaw, which was twitching like mad.

Harry shrugged.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Draco said, stalking over there. He shoved at Harry, who – startled – half fell against Snape, before realising what was being asked of him.

It was supremely weird sitting on Snape's lap, And Snape himself didn't seem too sure how he felt about it either, although his Adam's apple bobbed. But then Harry shifted a little closer, to stabilise himself, and . . . oh. Incontrovertible proof that Snape's body, at the very least, was enjoying it, all right.

Snape let out a most un-Snapelike breath, and his hands slid down either side of Harry's waist, the waterproof fabric rustling as his fingers moved. He gripped Harry's hips so hard that Harry thought he'd probably have bruises; he could barely concentrate on anything except the heat of Snape's fingers, and the feel of his cock, hard against him through the layers of fabric between them.

Harry felt Draco loom over them both, pushing at his shoulder, and he half-turned, so that he was facing Snape – oh _Merlin_ – their cocks now brushing together.

Snape's lips were slightly parted, and the expression on his face took the breath from Harry's lungs – it was so open and _wanting_. Harry tried not to blush, or to feel like an idiot.

Draco was rubbing his hands over Harry's back, as if giving him a massage, with increasing firmness, and with each kneading movement, Harry's crotch was pushed closer to Snape's. It didn't take long before they were practically grinding up against each other, and Snape's skin was flushed with arousal. And annoyance, too – Harry was sure of it.

"Uh. Okay?" Harry said, to Snape's evident discomfort – and amusement.

Snape let out a breath, and his hands loosened their death grip on Harry's hips, just a little. "Perfectly," he said.

"But?" Harry asked. It was like probing a wound. He shifted, and Snape's colour rose even higher. Harry's cock was _throbbing_. All the blood in his body felt like it had dropped, to fuel an insistent, aching need between his legs.

Draco let out a short, unamused laugh, and pulled Harry away from Snape and upright, planting a hard, almost painful kiss on his mouth. He led him to the other side of the room and stood him by several of the purloined traffic cones.

"Well? Are you ready to cross the road now?" he inquired of Snape, raising an eyebrow and utilising the Malfoy Glare to full effect.

Snape's utilised his own glare in response, and Draco stomped back, tugged him up to his feet and . . . kissed him, hard and fast, on the mouth. Just like he'd kissed Harry.

Harry wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. A small, squirming creature seemed to have taken up residence in his gut, and was competing with the ache between his legs.

"Go on, then," Draco ordered, pushing Snape towards Harry. "Walk."

Snape did, with bad grace, but his eyes flickered over Harry's clothes, before finally resting on his face. "May I?" he asked, when he reached him.

Harry nodded, not sure what he was being asked.

Snape leaned forward and kissed him.

It was really, really odd being kissed by someone who wasn't Draco. Harry had only snogged a couple of people in his life, and he hadn't really planned on snogging anyone else, if truth be told. But Snape was soft, and gentle, and Harry felt his mind float away somewhere pretty fantastic, if truth be told. Snape's hands were running over his back, his sides, his fingers pressing trails of fire into Harry's skin, right through his clothes.

Harry pulled away, feeling his face burn, and locked eyes with Draco. Who looked both furious and so turned on that there was a good chance he might just come in his trousers. Which would be a waste, Harry reckoned, given how beautiful Draco was without his clothes on. "Kit off," he said, and tried not to smile when Draco gave him a bit of a death stare. "Apart from the hat," he added.

Draco flushed beautifully.

"We're waiting," Snape murmured – to piss Draco off, Harry couldn't help but think, though probably not _only_ to piss him off.

Draco shrugged off the yellow high-vis jacket and kicked off his shoes, toeing off his socks. Then he paused, before yanking at the buttons of his shirt and tugging that off too.

He really was beautiful, Harry thought, staring. Even though he'd seen him before, so many times, it still took him by surprise every now and then. So angular and pale, but nothing close to skinny. Draco could pick him up without a struggle, if he cared to.

Draco paused at his belt . . . and then undid it, snaking it free and dropping it by his feet. "I'm not wearing any boxers," he said, a little defiantly. "So I think I'll leave my trousers on for the moment. Why am _I_ the only one who has to prance around in the buff?"

It was a challenge – and everyone in the room knew it.

Without comment, Snape slid his cashmere jumper over his head and unbuttoned his shirt, undoing the cufflinks with care and dropping them on to a side table. When he slid the shirt off his shoulders, Harry tried not to stare – and failed.

Snape was thin, and scarred. Very scarred. He raised his chin, as if daring anyone to mention it.

"Well, don't stop there," Draco said dismissively.

Snape gave a snort, and slipped out of his shoes and socks, quickly followed by his trousers. He was wearing boxers, but they hid very little; they were tented at the crotch, a damp patch marking where his cock had started to leak precum.

"Now your turn," Snape said. His voice was very level, but Harry thought it sounded like he was using every ounce of his self-control to make it so. Harry, standing close to him, could almost feel the way he was vibrating with tension.

"Who's in charge here?" Draco said, pointing at his awful hat and striding over to where Harry and Snape stood. "Guests first. Harry?" He motioned with his head, indicating . . . indicating the obvious.

Harry wet his lips and turned to Snape. "OK?" he said, hooking his thumbs either side of Snape's underwear and looking him in the eye.

Snape nodded, very sharply, and Harry tugged the boxers down, sliding down with them and helping Snape step out of them. Snape's cock, when it sprang free, was very hard, and very reddened, a drop of liquid running from the tip. Snape's cock, Harry thought, eying it. _I'm looking at Snape's cock_. _Fucking, fucking hell._

On impulse – his own dick was in charge now, he thought, rather than his brain, which was wondering why they hadn't all gone out on a date before taking their kit off – Harry leaned forward and licked the head of Snape's cock, tasting the salty pearl at the tip and licking his lips. Snape let out a shocked gasp, as if – despite the situation – he hadn't actually expected to be touched, and wobbled, before Draco also leaned in, to support him. And then, with a searing look at Harry first, Draco leaned in to kiss Snape.

If Draco was kissing Snape, Harry thought, then it seemed appropriate that _he_ should also do so. So he took another lick of Snape's cock, and then another, enjoying the way that Snape's legs had already started to tremble. Snape nearly fell over when Harry took his cock in his mouth and sucked, but Draco held him upright, and after only a minute or so, Snape was jerking like a fish on a line.

Harry pulled away. It seemed a little bit too early in the proceedings for it to be all over, and he did have Snape's dignity to consider, after all.

Draco pulled away too, smirking at the look of sheer outrage on Snape's face. "I wonder if you'd like . . ." he said. And then laughed. And picked up the pole.

What on _earth_ was he planning on doing with that, Harry thought, eyes locked on to it, a dozen lewd things running through his head.

"Draco," Snape said, a warning tone in his voice. But it was hard to look authoritative when you were naked and trembling with lust, Harry thought.

"On your hands and knees," Draco said speculatively, smacking the pole on the palm of his hand.

"No," Snape said.

Draco raised an eyebrow, and Snape sank down.

"Harry, cock out," Draco said.

Harry felt himself flush even redder than he already was. He shot a glance at Snape, whose eyes flared with tacit permission.

It felt a bit odd being fully dressed with just his cock poking out of the fly of his trousers, the hideous uniform jacket unzipped and flapping open. But it sort of concentrated things on the most needy part of his body – and the way Snape was eyeing it, he didn't think he'd feel odd for very long.

Draco twirled the pole, and Snape looked round – and saw him doing it. An angry colour suffused his cheeks, and Draco smirked . . . and hit Snape's bottom, quite hard, with the flat, circular top. It made a satisfying smacking noise, and Snape exhaled a surprised grunt, his fingers winding into the thick carpet.

Harry thought that Snape'd object, but he didn't. He just closed his eyes for a moment, and then said, "Get over here, idiot," to Harry, who sank to his knees. His cock was at Snape's mouth level – and Snape started licking it as if it were, indeed, a lollipop. It was appropriate, Harry thought. And – _Merlin_. If he'd been turned on before, that was nothing. Fierce heat coiled in his groin, tingled in his thighs. And then Snape began _sucking_. Hot. Wet. _Fantastic_.

Draco began smacking Snape's arse rhythmically, each hit ringing out into the quiet room, to join the sound of Snape's slurps and grunts, and Harry's heavy breathing. Looking along the line of Snape's back, while winding his fingers tight into Snape's hair, Harry could see Snape's skin was beginning to redden.

Harry met Draco's eye, and suddenly it all became too much. Snape's mouth, tight and hot around him, Draco's expression, and the smell of sex in the room. He came, shuddering and shuddering, and Snape didn't baulk, just carried on sucking, swallowing each drop down.

When Harry had finished shaking, Snape sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Draco knelt behind him, casting aside the pole, and it only took a few tugs before Snape was coming in spurts, looking Harry in the eye, his gaze dark and intense and overwhelming.

For a moment, all was quiet. Then Draco cleared his throat meaningfully.

"If you can't be bothered to take your trousers off, I don't see why we should cater to you," Harry said lazily, still riding the aftershocks of his orgasm. He trailed his fingers down Snape's chest, enjoying the way he shuddered under his touch.

"Oh, I like _that_ ," Draco said, and he got up, then yanked his trousers down expectantly. "Oh, I'll do it, shall I?" he complained, but he didn't seem to mind too much having two sets of eyes watching him wank, because he was done in less than a minute, to his evident chagrin.

Harry grinned. "You left the hat on. Sexy." It was a bit, despite everything. Draco's hair was dark with sweat, and the hat had slipped to a rakish angle.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fuck you," he said, pulling off the trousers completely and tossing them aside with a wrinkle of his nose.

"Mmm, maybe in a bit," Harry said.

Snape's eyes flickered.

"You're welcome to stay," Harry said, tucking himself back into his trousers and stretching. "For round two," he clarified.

Snape frowned, evidently not entirely sure he meant it, and shifted, as if he'd only just realised he was stark naked in company. He was already – Harry noticed, mildly impressed – half hard.

Draco scooted over and gave his boyfriend a kiss. "Stay the night, if you like," he added, as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Or you could come round next weekend for dinner," Harry said.

"Or both," Draco added, with a slight question mark in his voice.

Harry nodded. "Or both."

Snape stared at them. Then he laughed, very wryly. "I only came over this evening to tell you that I wasn't staying," he said.

"So don't stay," Draco said, with a shrug. "But be sure to not stay next weekend too, if you like."

Snape nodded. "But I think right now I'll not stay for a tiny bit longer, if you don't mind," he said.

Harry and Draco looked at each other. "We don't mind at all."

***

Later that night, as Draco coiled his body up against Harry's in the slightly suffocating manner he had, Draco cleared his throat.

"Mm?" Harry said, half asleep.

"We _don't_ mind, do we?" Draco asked. "I mean . . . we're still okay?"

Harry considered this sleepily and pulled Draco closer. "Pretty fucking okay," he said. And meant it.


End file.
